Sharper Than a Serpent's Tooth
by Ligeia
Summary: Postcards from the Edge of the Hellmouth 6. Angel ponders whether to be or not to be as Darla plots to reclaim her thankless childe.
1. Prologue: Dust To Dust

**Title: Sharper Than a Serpent's Tooth.**

**Series: Postcards from the Edge of the Hellmouth Part Six.**

**Author: Ligeia.**

Episode Tie-In: Angel. 

Summary: Angel ponders whether to be or not to be while Darla plots to reclaim her thankless Childe. 

Disclaimer: The characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Kuzui, Sandollar, David Greenwalt Productions, 20th Century Fox, The Warner Brothers et al. I do not mean to infringe upon any copyrights. Julia Devereaux and original parts of the story are my own creation. 

Member of The BtVS Writers' Guild: Because fan fiction makes anything possible. 

List-Mum of sunnydalewriters at Yahoo Groups 

* * *

**Postcards from the Edge of the Hellmouth Part Six: Sharper Than a Serpent's Tooth by Ligeia**

'How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless Childe!'   


- [with apologies to] William Shakespeare's 'King Lear'.

  


*****

**Prologue – Dust To Dust**

Diary entry, Sunnydale, undated:   
How did it all go wrong so quickly? A few weeks ago, there we were, congratulating ourselves on a successful campaign to halt the Harvest. Since then our little Slayer, who seemed so unsuited to the role at first, has not only fended off attacks by vampires but encountered witches, a virgin-eating insect-woman, hyena demons - things the Chosen One was never meant to deal with, rising magnificently to meet each new challenge. 

Then this thing with Angel happened. Our one supposed ally here in Sunnydale turns out to be a vampire himself. Not that the revelation came as a huge surprise. Now there's remains that niggling little problem of having the scourge of vampires developing a crush on one of the undead, albeit a very cute one. 

And having to kill him. 

  
- Julia Devereaux

  


*****

[A few days before …] 

The last of the vampires collapsed against a granite headstone, exploding in a shower of red-brown particles that swirled around like a miniature dust storm for a few moments before settling in a fine powder on the grave, on the grass … and on the Slayer. 

Julia had gone on patrol with Buffy that night hoping it would be quiet enough to get in some weapons practice but immediately they had arrived at Sunnydale Cemetery several vampires jumped them. Buffy dispatched the first one almost before the female Watcher had a chance to react. Slaying two more in as many minutes, Buffy seemed disappointed to see the others turn tail and disappear into the night. 

'Dust thou art and unto dust shalt thou return.' Julia read aloud the epitaph on the tombstone as the final residue of vampire particles were carried away on the breeze. 'How ironic,' she added archly. 

'Damn! I just washed these!' Buffy realised she was covered in dust motes and began frantically brushing the stuff off her jeans and out of her hair, slapping at her clothes as if they were crawling with tiny spiders. 'Eww! What a mess!' She turned to Julia who was now gathering up the spare stakes that had spilled from the duffle bag that Buffy carried on patrol. 'So, what's with the exploding undead anyway? Why can't they just die in a normal, un-detonating way like any other self-respecting demon? Or at least dissolve into a nice compact pool of non-airborne gunge.' 

'Well, besides the fact that they're already dead … ' Julia began. Buffy gave the older woman a withering look. '… I suspect it has something to do with the effect of the demon soul on the human body. The demon-part comes from another dimension, a different 'plane of existence' as the spiritualists would say.' Julia scowled a little. She hated reverting to 'mystical' terminology but science did not have the vocabulary to cover the situation. 'This changes the vibratory levels of the host body, which, by the way, is what you 'feel' with your Slayer sense when a vampire is near. When the demonic soul is released it's ripped back into that other dimension with such violent force that it loosens the body's molecular bonds sufficiently to turn the remains to dust.' 

'Hmph … ' Buffy did not sound impressed. Ask a simple question, get a complicated answer. Julia was sounding more like Giles every day. British-school marm with a touch of the Twilight Zones. 'So how did you get to know all this stuff? About vampires I mean.' She hoisted the bag of weapons over her shoulder and they resumed patrolling the largest of Sunnydale's uncommonly numerous graveyards. 'I don't suppose there's a course or anything – 'Creatures of the Night 101'?' 

'Years of study in the field,' Julia replied, 'and in public and private libraries across six continents. Of course,' she added, 'most of it is just theory.' 

'How come?' 

'It's not like you can turn people into vampires for the purpose of studying the physical process.' 

Buffy thought Julia sounded faintly wistful. 

'Well, you could, but I guess it would be frowned upon,' Buffy grinned. 'Especially by the Council of Watchers. I imagine they tend to do a lot of frowning on things – that is, if Giles is anything to go by.' 

The tall brunette chuckled and threw an arm around Buffy's other shoulder. 'You're a strange child, Buffy,' Julia said, 'but you're not far wrong!' 

***** 


	2. Part One: Connections

**Part One – Connections.**   
Diary entry, Sunnydale, undated: 

Giles is pleased that my research into Buffy's background has yielded a family connection to one of the Nine established Slayer Families. And I must admit, our recent visit to the old lady seems to have left Buffy a little more grounded, more certain of her place in the greater scheme of things, as far as that role is defined by the Council of Watchers at least. 

Whether Buffy now feels resigned to her fate or motivated by the reality of her link to the Slayers of the past I can't tell but she is finally beginning to accept her role as the Chosen One. 

For myself, I feel only further bitterness towards the Council. 

- Julia Devereaux 

  
***** 

Buffy sat silently for most of the drive back from Santa Clarita. Julia had watched them from the edge of the Mercy Hospice's shady garden, the old lady and the young girl deep in conversation. Buffy held her great-grandmother's hand tightly as they looked through an ancient and battered photo album together, the older woman pointing out people and places from long ago while Buffy seemed by turns amused and fascinated. 

Before they left, Helena gave Buffy copies of a handful of photographs – old fashioned sepia studio portraits, a posed shot of herself in her British army nurse's uniform, a couple of faded colour Polaroids from more recent decades. Buffy looked at them often during the long trip back to Sunnydale. The rest of the time she spent staring out at the passing landscape. 

Half an hour into the drive home, Julia glanced over at the teenager. 

'You're very quiet, Buffy. Are you OK?' Buffy nodded but continued to stare out of the window of the MG. 'Do you want to ask me about anything?' 

'I was just thinking … about how she must have felt, giving up her baby daughter like that.' 

Julia sighed. 'I think she must have wanted her child – both of her children - to have the best possible future.' 

Nineteen-year-old Helena had met George Mitchell, a handsome young American pilot training with the RAF, in the autumn of 1940 and they fell in love. When the USA entered the War the following year, George retuned home to enlist, determined to do his duty. He planned to return when the war was over, marry his 'English Rose' and take her with him to his home in Vermont. 

Neither of them knew when he left that Helena was already pregnant. 

Two months later she received the news through the casualty lists in an American newspaper that George had been killed in action. 

'What I don't understand,' Buffy said, 'is why no one tried to help her, to offer her support so she could keep both of her babies. It seems so cruel.' She looked at Julia, her jaw clenched. 'Why didn't the Council of Watchers do something?' 

'From what I can tell, they didn't know. Nobody did.' 

Helena eventually had to leave her nursing job and make plans for her own and the baby's future. Her parents had very little to offer in the way of money or resources, even less now that strict rationing was in force. She could hardly show up and expect them to cope with two extra mouths to feed. Posting a letter to them at the last possible moment, she boarded a ship for the perilous voyage across the Atlantic. She would go to America and present herself at George's family home Vermont, where, he had assured her, his wealthy parents would welcome her as a daughter. 

That, of course, was when he was alive and she was his intended bride. Taking in a heavily pregnant stranger – well, that was quite a different prospect. 

'How could the Council not know?' Buffy exclaimed. 'Giles told me they keep tabs on all the Slayer Families.' 

'The Council only become involved when a daughter is born and then, usually at a distance, unless the girl has Slayer potential,' Julia explained. 'Most people never even know they are a member of one of the Nine Families. The Council keeps track of the female line but if a girl turns eighteen without developing Slayer skills they have no further interest in her unless she has a daughter of her own.' 

George's family gave Helena a luke-warm reception. They accepted that their son was probably the father of her baby as his letters home mentioned a fiancée but were vague about their own role in the child's future. Helena was offered accommodation in the luxurious family home pending her confinement. The Mitchells indicated that, having lost their only son, a grandson would be welcome to carry on the family name but refused to settle on any specific arrangements following the birth. 

Finally, when the time came for the baby to be born, Helena was packed off to a sanatorium. 

When twins were born, Helena had a very difficult decision to make. Would the Mitchells accept two babies? Or turn them all away? Begging the doctor and nursing staff to say nothing to George's parents, she returned to them with the baby boy. 

George Junior spent his childhood enjoying all the advantages that an upbringing in a rich old Vermont family could bring. His mother was tolerated by his grandparents as an unwanted but necessary part of the package. 

Watching George Junior grow from a happy, carefree and much loved little boy into a successful doctor, faithful husband and loving father in his own right, Helena knew she had done the right thing by her son. But she never forgot, not for a single day of her life, taking that long cab ride back to the Mitchell estate, stopping just once along the way at the Addison County Home for Orphans to leave her baby girl behind. 

***** 

  



	3. Part Two: Infatuation

**Part Two – Infatuation.**

Diary entry, Sunnydale, undated: 

Giles and I are both worried about Buffy's continuing relationship with Angel. I feel it's just an infatuation and will pass especially as Angel, being true to his word, hasn't been around that much. But Giles is deeply concerned, mainly for the possible interference with the Slayer's duties. 

When I spoke with Angel that night behind the Bronze he promised to keep away from Buffy but I didn't tell Giles about our conversation at the time. Of course, I can hardly tell him now without letting him know I've kept several previous contacts with Angel from him. 

Damn! How do I get myself into these situations! 

- Julia Devereaux 

  
*********

Giles slipped and fell heavily onto the floor of the workout room barking out a rare, but still very British, expletive as his head struck the hardwood floor. Buffy dropped the quarterstaff and leaned down to help her Watcher to his feet. 

'By George! I think I've got it!' she quipped in an awful imitation of Giles's plummy accent, the tiny blonde's cheeky sense of humour adding insult to almost-real-injury. 

'Well, the basics, certainly,' Giles replied, dusting himself off and readjusting his dignity as best he could. Julia's not-quite-suppressed laughter earned her a withering glare. 

'Come on, Rupert,' she cajoled, walking over to help remove Giles's chest padding. 'Give credit where credit's due. She's doing marvellously well.' 

'Power isn't everything you know,' Rupert grumbled. 'There is such a thing as finesse.' 

Julia sniggered again. Buffy's back was to them as she replaced some items in the weapons cabinet but Julia could see the girl's shoulders shaking with ill-concealed merriment. Giles pushed his assistant's hands away from the straps and buckles she was struggling with. 

'I can manage … thank you. I'm not quite incapable yet.' 

This time Julia could not stifle a very unladylike snort that had the effect of reducing Buffy to peals of laughter. 

'Oh, seriously! You two both need to grow up!' Giles fumed. Turning around to storm out he managed to stumble over the head protector he had previously thrown to the floor, not quite tripping but giving a very respectable imitation of a Keystone Cop. 

Which caused both females fall about in a fit of hilarity. 

When they had finally regained sufficient breath to speak sensibly, Julia suggested they take the crossbows out to her place where they could set up targets in the woods behind the house. Buffy had been nagging to have more practise time but Giles had insisted on more hand-to-hand. 

'Sorry, I have to get home,' Buffy answered, adding quickly, 'I've got to … study.' 

'Oh.' Julia was surprised. Buffy never refused weapons training and the crossbow was her current obsession. But she was already packing up her school bag, preparing to leave. 'OK, then. I'll see you tomorrow.' 

Julia stared after the departing figure then went back to tidying up the practise area. 

Teenagers, she thought. So unpredictable. 

*********

Angel passed the day alone in Buffy's room, his emotions mixed, his thoughts alternating between hopeful expectation and abject misery. During the night he had intended to rise before dawn and slip out of the second storey window. Unaccountably he had dozed off in the early hours, waking to find Buffy already up and dressed for school. Noticing he was awake, she had 'shushed' him before he had even had the chance to speak. 

'You'll have to be quiet. Mom's still here!' she whispered. 'She's cataloguing stock for the gallery and doing the accounts so she'll be home all day.' 

Angel's heart sank. Even thought the curtains were drawn he could tell that the sun was well up. How could he have fallen asleep? Not knowing what else to do, he assured Buffy that he would try to leave only if Joyce left the house first. The teenager was already in enough trouble at home without her mother discovering a young man in her room. 

But the opportunity to leave never arose. During the day Angel thought of ways to get out of the Summers' house but shimmying down the slippery roof shingles and running down the street with a lacy quilt over his head was bound to attract the wrong kind of attention. In the end, he decided to just stay put. 

So there he remained, stuck in that most alien of environments - a high school girl's bedroom. 

Not daring to lie down again Angel sat on the edge of the bed listening to the little clock radio turned down low. Halfway through the day boredom got the better of him and he leafed through a few back issues of Seventeen and Rolling Stone, shaking his head at the oddities that passed for music and fashion among young folk these days. He picked up a little diary that was sitting on top of a chest of drawers, considered opening it but thought the better of it and put the book back down. If he and Buffy were going to have any kind of a relationship, even just a working one, there had to be trust between them. 

There had been an uncomfortable half hour spent in the cramped wardrobe squashed into the corner amongst Buffy's clothes and shoes while Joyce tidied up the room, opening and closing drawers, folding washing, dusting. 

At least I don't have to worry about holding my breath! Angel thought wryly. 

He tensed every time Joyce's footsteps approached his hiding place; he did not relish being discovered among in a sixteen-year-old girl's closet. It had been a very long time since that had last happened! 

*********


	4. Part Three: Trust

**Part Three – Trust.**   
  
Diary entry, Sunnydale, undated: 

So, my suspicions were correct - Angel is a vampire. One who fights other vampires, it's true, but a killer all the same. And even though I half suspected it all along I didn't try, not _really_ try, to keep Buffy away from him. I trusted him. He seemed so sincere. 

Have my instincts become that screwed up that I can't tell who's on which side any more? Is it because I'm so focussed on concealing my own secrets that I failed to pick up on Angel's? If so, then maybe Rupert is right – I'm a liability here, not an asset. 

- Julia Devereaux 

  
*********

'Damn!' Julia mumbled. She was finding it hard to concentrate and had typed incorrect data into the library's computer files three times in the same document. 

'Bugger!' she said, more loudly this time, slamming shut the little French grimoire she was translating. Giles lowered his glasses and stared at her across the table. 

'What's wrong?' 

'Nothing …,' Julia bit back testily then immediately regretted it. She sighed, saved the current document and closed the file. 'I'm worried about Buffy.' 

'This thing with Angel?' 

'Mmm …' Julia nodded. Restless, she got up and began walking around the room, leafing through the small book as she paced between the doors and the stacks. There had to be something on this 'Anointed One' whose appearance was heralded by the three warrior vampires who had attacked Buffy and Angel two nights before. Angel … Julia sighed again and shut the book once more. 

'I agree it's unfortunate,' Giles continued without looking up, 'but I'm certain Buffy will do the right thing.' He turned his attention back to the texts he was leafing through. 

'At what cost?' 

'Hmm?' Giles was distracted, intent on taking notes in his neat, cramped script. Julia stopped pacing. 

'Giles! Will you stop fussing with those books and listen to me?' 

'I am listening,' he replied, still with his eyes on the page. 'I just don't see what other options there are. Buffy is the Slayer; Angel is a vampire. There's no point clouding the issue with emotions.' 

'Giles!' The Watcher jumped as Julia's hand slapped down hard on the tabletop beside him. This time he removed his glasses and gave her his undivided attention. 'She's sixteen! A child! And now she's faced with killing the first fellow she's . . .' 

'What? Fallen in love with?' He sounded unconvinced. 

'Maybe . . . ' 

'She'll get over it.' The glasses went back on. The matter was closed. 

'How can you be so cold?' 

Giles closed the volume he was working on and began tidying his sheets of notes.   
  
'Are you certain your concern is all for Buffy?' 

'Of course. What else?' 

Giles raised an accusing eyebrow but made no other comment. 

'Oh! Surely you're not going to bring that up!' Julia was uncomfortable with the turn the conversation was about to take. Giles knew about Toronto; the entire Council of Watchers knew. Her affair with Nick Knight had caused quite a scandal at the time. Managing to convince the Board of Auditors that her closeness to the vampire detective benefited the research she was there to do, they had allowed her to remain. Until things started to get out of hand. Until the end . . . when it all went so badly wrong . . . just the way the present situation was going wrong in Sunnydale. 

With an effort of will, Julia dragged her attention back to the here and now. 

'That was an exceptional situation,' she said quietly. Only it wasn't was it? But Giles couldn't know that. Could he? Surely he didn't know about the other . . . but Giles was speaking again. 

'You have to stay focussed on why we are here. This has turned into a much more active assignment than expected. Lives depend on the decisions we make here.' 

'I'm aware of that, Rupert, and I'm not suggesting . . . it's just that I think we need to know more about this . . . particular vampire . . . before we destroy what could be a rare source of information and possibly a valuable ally.' 

'Julia, you have to be very clear about this.' Giles studied Julia's expression closely. She stood with arms crossed, staring at the floor. He knew this was difficult for her. 'Vampires are not our allies. They are the enemy. They can't be trusted . . . not in the long run.' 

Julia did not need Giles to tell her so; she knew it from bitter personal experience. 

'We have to be unanimous in this.' 

'I know.' 

'Julia?' Giles's voice held a subtle warning. 

'I said OK!' 

*********

After classes were over Buffy and the Scooby Gang gathered in the library. The atmosphere was subdued. Julia questioned Buffy about the events of the night before while Giles sat at the table and said nothing. 

'Did you invite Angel into the house?' 

'No! I did _not_ invite Angel inside!' Buffy was still very defensive. A bad sign. She went over, for the third time, what had happened that evening. 'We were being chased by the Three . . . we ran for the door. I opened it . . . and then . . . oh.' She paused, biting her bottom lip. 'Then … I yelled "get in".' Buffy looked around at her friends who all remained steadfastly silent. 'I guess maybe I did invite him in.' 

Still Giles did not speak. 

He's judging me, Buffy thought, and I've been found wanting. I've let him down. I've let them all down. 

As usual, Xander was the first to break the uncomfortable mood. 

'Why is it that a vampire can't enter a house uninvited? Other demons can.' 

'Vampires are among a small number of demon species that originate from a human source,' Julia explained, eager to get the discussion back to the facts . . . and away from laying blame. 'They have all the memories of the person they take over which means they are partly bound by the culture and religion of the original . . . mind. This explains why some are repelled by crosses, holy water, in fact any number of religious or magical artefacts, while others aren't affected at all. Then there's a whole range of vampire lore that seems to work, I suspect, just because they accept it as true.' 

'So it's all based on the belief system of the host?' Xander offered. 

Julia shrugged. 'No reason a demon can't be as superstitious as anyone else.' 

'So why can't a vampire want to be good . . . if he was a good person before?' Buffy asked. She desperately wanted to validate her feelings for Angel. After all, he hadn't actually bitten her, had he? And he had helped them. He didn't have to . . . he chose to. That had to count for something, didn't it? 

Julia looked over at Giles. This was not safe ground for her. He had made it very clear earlier that day that Julia's belief in the possible goodness of some vampires had no place here. 

'The devil can quote the scriptures when it suits his purposes, Buffy.' Giles spoke to the Slayer but his eyes were on Julia. 'We'd all do well to remember that.' 

*********

When the kids left, Julia went back to the pile of books on the table. There was so much more research to be done … the Three, the Anointed One … and now, Angel. There had to be something about him in the Council records. He was an old vampire, she felt sure. He had to have a history. 

Giles stood a while watching his Slayer as she walked away with her friends beside her. 

This girl-warrior of mine, he mused, she's done well. Some Slayers don't make it past the first few days after they are Called. But she's so unlike the other Slayers I've seen. They were obsessed, single-minded, every bit the cold-blooded killer, just like the vampires they hunt. Buffy is different. She has other … expectations. She wants to be a winner, not a martyr. It makes her stronger. And it makes her much more vulnerable. So much more human. 

*********


	5. Part Four: The Lion and the Dove

**Part Four – The Lion and the Dove.**

  


Diary entry, Sunnydale, undated: 

I can't sleep. I've been lying awake for hours it seems, so I've gotten up to write a little. But now that I sit here putting pen to paper I realise that this is not what I need at all. What I need is answers. And I won't find them here. 

It's too late … or too early - don't know which … to call Giles to talk. Besides, I need to be doing something. I've decided to confront Angel like I intended to do days ago. Before I got sidetracked by how well things had been going. Giles was definitely right about one thing – I'm here as an investigator. It's about time I did some snooping. 

And, as they say, there's no time like the present … 

- Julia Devereaux 

***** 

In the graveyard a solitary dark figure moved among the monuments to the dead. Coming to one particular tomb, the figure stopped and seated himself on a stone bench in front of a plinth made of the same grey granite. 

He liked this spot. It was special. Someone had cared enough for the departed to visit this place frequently. Often enough to require a bench anyway. Someone came to sit here, communing with a lost love … perhaps talking to them . . . maybe just remembering. Feeling close. 

He stared up at the marble angel atop the granite pedestal. It was an unusual statue. Not the usual depiction of an androgynous seraphim or a fiery archangel. Not the ubiquitous and innocent child-angel. He hated those; they reminded him too much of old times . . . very bad old times. No, this angel was none of those. This angel leaned out over the pedestal, kneeling down on one knee as though considering whether or not to step down from its platform. Its eyes were half closed and heavy lidded; a faint smile was frozen on its white marble lips. The palest of blue veins ran through the pallid marble giving it the aspect of a consumptive in extremis. It seemed to look down upon the figure on the bench. One wing spread out over the tomb, the other lay smashed on the ground below. Its right arm was slightly raised, the fingers spread wide as though to grasp or exhort . . . or beckon. In the other hand it clutched a dove, held tight . . . or about to be set free. 

Darla is like that marble dove, he thought. Beautiful, but heartless and cold. Frozen in time like the little stone bird and just as soulless. 

Someone had been there recently and left three or four red roses on the plinth. The dried petals were scattered about like drops of blood at the angel's feet. A bronze plaque lay on the ground beneath the statue. Angel picked it up and slowly brushed the dust from its surface. 

James Albert Stafford   
1898 – 1979   
Beloved husband, father and grandfather.   
'Behold, I send an angel before thee, to keep thee and to bring thee into the place which I have prepared.' 

This person . . . this man . . . lived and died; had a family, friends, lovers. There was still someone who cared enough to bring flowers. A wife perhaps, or a son or daughter. Someone. Angel leaned forward, placing the plaque at the statue's base. 

His own unlife had spanned several lifetimes already and what did he have to show for it? Death and destruction, dissolution and despair. 

What would my life have been, he wondered, if Liam had lived his allotted span? If Ariel had not died? Would it have been a good life? A happy life? A place in the community? Children, perhaps. A venerable old age, ending naturally and marked by some small monument in an Irish country churchyard, by now overgrown and long forgotten. 

But all that had been stolen from him. All the possibilities torn away and this . . . this hateful changeling of an existence left in its place. 

Why have I kept on for so long, he thought, enduring this awful half-life, seeking a deliverance that doesn't exist? Or doesn't exist for me anyway. 

Angel rose and climbed to the crest of the hill overlooking Sunnydale. The little town was a constellation of coloured lights, some moving, some still – all silent. 

What a strange place to seek salvation, he thought. Here at the Mouth of Hell. I've finally reached the point where I hoped I might redeem myself only to be considering ending it all at last. 

He laughed a little then, but sadly. 

How easily desire changed to hunger when I kissed Buffy. I have no control over myself, so how can I hope to help her? All I've achieved is to put her in more danger. What good is it for me to stay? 

Or to go on? 

He looked back down the slope at the angel with one wing. 

'I'm like that,' he said quietly, ' . . . broken.' 

He considered waiting there at the top of the hill, allowing the sun to rise over him. A couple of hours and it could all be over. Death by daybreak. How poetic. Seeing the sun come up for the first time in two hundred and forty years – it might just be worth it. 

Thinking about Ariel before had reminded him of his tattoo. Liam had asked a Welsh sailor to do it for him when his beloved girl died back in Galway over two hundred years ago. Her death was the first of Darla's little gifts to him. Angel had almost forgotten the tattoo until Buffy commented on it. The Lion of St Mark. A lion with a single wing. 

'We are, each of us, angels with one wing. We can only fly by embracing one another.' Someone had said that to him once, he no longer recalled where or when. 

Angel sighed. I guess it can wait a little longer, he decided. Maybe I can still do some good here. After all, the sun always rises. It'll be here tomorrow, or the next day. There's no hurry. Not just yet. 

He turned and walked back down the hill. 

***** 

The Bronze was long closed, the chilly streets silent and deserted. Julia walked the few blocks around Angel's apartment for the third time, occasionally running her hand along the scabbard of the Serpent's Tooth dagger she always wore strapped to the thigh of her jeans when walking in Sunnydale after dark. She had arrived there just after midnight, knocked, but got no answer. She wandered down by the closest cemetery but all was quiet there too. She even took a quick walk along Revello Drive . . . just in case. Now it was almost dawn and still he had not returned. 

Julia hugged her knee length coat tightly around her but not really from the cold. She had deceived Giles by not telling him all she knew. Had still not told him everything that Angel had said to her . . . probably never would now. It wouldn't be relevant. Not if Angel was dead. Finally, she turned again and headed back towards Angel's place. 

She turned a corner to enter the laneway behind the Bronze when she caught sight of a figure approaching from a block away. It was Angel. Walking fast, head down, he did not see her at first. Then, when he did look her way, Julia slipped into the darkness between two buildings. 

How bloody stupid! she thought, I'm here to talk to him after all! She stepped out of the shadows and hurried after him. 

Entering the area behind the nightclub for the fourth time that night, Julia sensed something was different. Something was out of place. She looked around at the overflowing trashcans and crates full of empty bottles, the tattered posters flapping on the graffiti-decorated walls, the chain-link fence with a long, narrow break running almost from top to bottom. Nothing unusual there. Finally she saw it. The heavy metal lid of the manhole had been moved and now only partly covered the opening. Skirting the open pit, she halted beside it for a moment, listening, but could not hear or sense any movement below. 

Opening the outer door to the building, Julia walked down the corridor and stood in front of Angel's door. Taking a moment to gather herself before knocking, she realised she had been so intent on locating Angel that she had not really thought about what she was going to say when she found him. 

Oh, great, she thought, so now what am I going to do? Tell him I still think he's on our side? Demand he leave Sunnydale for Buffy's sake? For his own? Thanks for the help but now it's time to move on? Oh, well. It'll come to me . . . I hope. 

Julia took a deep breath and raised her hand to knock. 

'Who's there?' 

Angel must have heard her. Julia opened her mouth to reply . . . and heard another voice answer, 'A friend.' It was a voice she knew - cool, smooth . . . sexy. 

Darla. 

Julia leaned against the door to listen. 

***** 

Darla moved around the apartment as they talked, touching small items on the tabletops or moving a lamp, looking at the prints on the walls. She tapped an immaculate fingernail against the glass covering a flight of mounted butterflies, as though expecting to startle them into frantic life. Angel never took his eyes off her. She enjoyed that feeling. It had been a long time since he had watched her this intently, no matter that the cause was different these days. 

'I gave you life – eternal life – and what have you done with it?' 

'You expect me to thank you? After what you did to me?' Angel was incredulous, angry. Just a few minutes with Darla and all the hurt began to well up again. Hurt he had given as well as received. 'All you ever gave me was death; my own and the deaths of the countless thousands I killed for you. The deaths of my family …' 

'Oh, please!' Darla shrugged off his words. She had heard them all before, decades ago. Old news. 'It's not like your family meant anything to you when they were alive. Or when you were.' She turned to Angel and smiled, sensual and predatory. 'Except for that pretty Irish colleen.' 

Angel refused to take the bait. He would not discuss Ariel with the demon who killed her. But Darla would not let it rest. 

'Can't say your taste in women's improved since then, or even changed much for that matter.' Darla continued to circle the room, picking up a delicate ivory netsuke and holding it up to the faint light coming through the papery blinds. A tiny Japanese courtesan and her samurai lover, limbs knotted together in an erotic embrace. 'You've found yourself another little virgin I see. I wonder if you can save this one?' 

Angel did not respond. Darla turned sharply to face him, her voice hard now, accusing. 

'Angelus would have taken her by now … ' 

'Angelus is long gone.' 

'I think not …,' the predatory smile was back. 'He's only sleeping.' 

Angel knew this was true. Angelus talked in his sleep. 

'You're so predictable, Angel!' Darla goaded. 'And just how do you expect it to end this time? Any differently from the first? What was her name? That little Irish whore of yours? It seems to have slipped my mind – but I can still recall the taste.' 

Angel lunged at Darla. Grabbing her around the throat, he slammed her up against the wall. Darla gasped, mostly in surprise then the smile returned. 

'You can't choke me, idiot!' she rasped. 'I don't breathe!' 

'Shut up, then!' Angel growled. 'Just shut up!' 

'If you think that killing me will relieve you of your guilt, you're wrong.' 

Angel released his grip on Darla and stepped back. She stepped away from the wall, rubbing the redness from her throat. 

'The Master would have had you rule by his side. He'd have you back even now . . . ,' she offered, '. . . and so would I.' 

'You sent me away.' 

'I never sent you away. I allowed you to leave.' 

Not true, Angel thought. You forced me away with a dozen small cruelties until I couldn't stand it any longer. 

'Every child rebels against its parent some time,' Darla continued. 'I'm willing to let bygone be bygones.' 

'On your terms.' 

'Naturally.' 

Darla smiled again, sweetly this time. Angel did not doubt she was sincere but the memories of her love withheld over something he could not help - the restoration of his human soul - still caused pain. It would be no different this time. 

'It must have been so lonely for you these past years.' 

A century on, Darla still knew exactly how to get to him. Where to stick the knife in, when to twist it. 

'Unlike that other fallen angel,' he replied, 'I don't consider reigning in hell to be a viable option.' 

***** 

Julia was sickened by what she overheard. Angel was Angelus! The bloody Scourge of Europe for over a hundred and fifty years. One of the most voracious and brutal vampires this side of the Dark Ages, Angelus was the author of such atrocities that even other vampires feared him. 

But what did he mean when he said that Angelus was gone? That he was sleeping? It didn't make any sense. But there was no more time to contemplate these mysteries. Footsteps approached the door. 

Julia ran down the hallway, through the door and out into the alley, pressing herself against the brickwork of the wall outside. Her fingertips reached for the grip of the silver dagger and began easing it out of the scabbard. 

The sun was already up over the horizon. The long deep shadows it cast along the lane grew visibly shorter, second by second, as the sun rose higher. 

Darla burst out of the building wearing the uniform stolen from the schoolgirl she murdered several weeks before. As the sun crested the top of the converted warehouse Darla leapt for the manhole, pulling the heavy cover over her just seconds before the first direct rays of sunlight reached the same spot. 

***** 


	6. Part Five: The Scorpion and the Frog

**Part Five – The Scorpion and the Frog.**

  


Diary entry, Sunnydale, undated: 

Giles has every right to be furious. At the library today I finally admitted knowing more than I'd told him. He gave me a right dressing down. In front of Buffy and the kids no less (how humiliating!) Not that the Slayer came out unscathed. He's never spoken to her like that before. I could see how much it hurt. Both of them. But I had to tell him – he had to know about Angelus. 

I'm not looking forward to facing him again . . . Giles that is. Frankly, I'd rather go up against the undead any day than front up to Giles when he's pissed off! 

- Julia Devereaux 

*********

Xander and Willow hugged the wall by the stairs to Giles's office trying to look insignificant. Giles paced the library so enraged he could hardly find the words. When he did, there was none of his usual bumbling stutter. His words were hot with anger and sharp as a lash. 

'I can't believe you've been keeping this from me, Julia! When you took on this assignment you agreed there would be no more secrets between us! You've put yourself and Buffy in danger.' Julia opened her mouth to reply but Giles had already turned his wrath on Buffy. 'And you! The Slayer!' The younger girl flinched. 'You should have known instinctively what he is! You should have felt it!' 

'Well, I did feel something,' Buffy began. 'It's just that I thought I was feeling . . . something else,' she ended lamely, visibly deflating under Giles's glare. 

Julia was uncomfortably aware that she had brought some of this on the girl. Things may not have gone so far if she had voiced her suspicions about Angel from the beginning. 

'Giles, don't be so hard on her. She's only sixteen after all!' 

'Fine. What's your excuse?' Giles knew his assistant had hidden much of her past activities from the Watchers Council . . . possibly having good reason to do so . . . but he had believed her when she promised she would keep nothing from him. Didn't she trust him? Was that it? Had he relied too much on their former relationship – work and personal? If so, it was still no excuse. People were put in danger because of what she had done this time. Or failed to do. 'Remember,' he snapped, 'you're here under sufferance!' 

'What has women getting the vote got to do with it?' Xander whispered to Willow. 

'That's suffrage,' Willow replied, elbowing him hard in the ribs. 'Now shhh! He'll hear us!' She didn't want to attract Giles's attention in case he found some transgression of theirs to pounce on. Willow leaned against Xander and tried to look small and irreproachable. 

Julia's face was fiery with shame. She was not used to being treated like this, especially in front of others. And especially not by Giles. 

'I promise,' she said tightly, trying to contain her own emotions, 'nothing like this will ever happen again.' 

Though how she hoped to honour that assurance she did not know when there was still so much she could not reveal. About her past, about herself. She lied to Giles by omission every day. 

Later, when Giles cooled down a little and returned to his office, Julia sat at the table downstairs with her head in her hands. Willow and Xander had scooted for the door as soon as they thought it was safe, but Buffy stayed. 

'Are you angry with me?' 

'No.' Julia looked up, surprised. 'No, I'm angry with myself. Giles expects me to provide a role model for you. I'm not doing a very good job of it.' 

'You're worried about me and Angel, aren't you?' 

Julia sighed. 'I just don't see how it can end well.' 

'Why does it have to end at all?' 

'Everything has to end sometime, one way or another.' 

'You've known lots of vampires, right? Studied them, I mean . . . worked with them?' 

Julia nodded. 'I have.' 

'And they're not all evil, right? That's what you were trying to tell me a few days ago, isn't it?' 

Julia leaned back in the chair. Giles had made his own position eminently clear and Julia would follow his lead in this. Her own thoughts on this matter would only confuse the issue further. In the long run the truth was best. 

'Buffy, vampires are demons. No creature can change its nature.' 

Buffy said nothing but Julia thought she looked unconvinced. 

'Do you know the story of the scorpion and the frog?' 

Buffy shook her head. 'No.' 

'Scorpion wants to cross the river but he can't swim. So he calls out to Frog who is swimming in the stream, "Frog, let me climb on your back so you can carry me across the river!" Frog calls back, "Scorpion, I know you. You will sting me." Scorpion asks, "Why would I do that, Frog? We would both drown in the river!" So Frog lets Scorpion crawl onto his back and begins to swim across the river. Halfway across, Scorpion's tail lashes out and he stings Frog. Paralysed, Frog begins to sink and cries out, "Scorpion! Now we will both die! Why did you sting me?" ' Julia looked into Buffy's eyes. 'Do you know what the scorpion answered?' 

'No.' 

'I couldn't help it. It's my nature.' 

*********


	7. Part Six: Blood and Whiskey

**Part Six: Blood and Whisky.**

  
****

  
Diary entry, Sunnydale, undated: 

The Watcher's Codex has, in its usual dry documentary style, noted the following entry from a Watcher, dated 1900: 'Leaving behind a bloody trail of death and destruction, notable even amongst the horrors of the Boxer rebellion, the vampires Angelus and Darla are believed to have escaped from China, along with at least two other unidentified vampires. Mere hours later it was discovered that the incumbent Slayer was dead.' 

There are no further entries recorded for Angelus. None that were confirmed anyway. He seems to have disappeared around the turn of the century. One footnote suggests he may have come to America shortly after but the information was unverified. 

God. Is this what we're up against? Is this ruthless killer the same creature that spent the night sleeping innocently beside Buffy? With the perfect opportunity to kill the Slayer, why didn't he? And where has he been for the past century? Doing what? If he's not here to destroy the Slayer, what is he here for? 

- Julia Devereaux 

  
*********

'I should never have stayed that night,' Angel said, swishing his third tumbler of Galway Pipe, watching patterns form between the liquid, the glass and the red-tinged light of Willy's Bar. 'I promised to stay away and I was trying . . . really trying.' He took a swallow of the hot smooth liquid. 'I could have left safely enough. I could have slipped away in the early hours . . . before sunrise.' 

Willy the barman passed a damp cloth over the timber counter top, refilled the peanut bowl, put out a fresh jar of pickled eggs – the Stryker demons liked 'em, no accounting for some tastes, but then you have to cater for your customers' likes and dislikes, especially when your clientele included Strykers – then wiped out the ashtrays again even though they hadn't been used since he wiped them out a half hour ago. Anything to distract himself from his lone customer's incessant soul-searching. 

Vampires, he thought, always with the conversation. Always stuff he didn't want to hear. 

'It's not like I expected to sleep at all,' Angel sighed. He had been so comfortable in the pre-dawn hour that he had succumbed to the deep slumber that comes to vampires with the sunrise. 'Not with Buffy so close . . . so warm and alive. I just wanted to stay near her.' He finished off the whisky and upended the glass on the bar. 'Then later . . . that night . . . it all happened so fast. It's been so long. I've resisted . . . kept myself away from human contact. Stayed blood-sober. Mostly. Suddenly I had the taste of her in my mouth, her touch, her scent . . .' 

'OK, guy,' the barman interrupted, righting the glass and pouring another drink. 'Too much information! Here, have another drink. On the house. Just don't talk any more, fella, OK?' 

*********

Darla watched Buffy and her little friend Willow from among the stacks as they chatted about classes, boys, fashion. The usual girly rubbish. She was a puzzle, this Slayer. Unlike most of the Chosen, this one had friends, family, schoolmates . . . 

Why does her Watcher allow it? Darla wondered. He must realise it would be so easy to hurt her through the ones she loves. 

Angel's appearance in Sunnydale was a bonus and the Slayer's interest in him, a gift. 

Darla would hurt them both. 

*********

Angel walked the quiet small-town streets, not really heading home, not really going anywhere in particular. It was still early but he was feeling the effects of the four - or was it five? - double whiskies he had consumed at Willy's. It had been a long time since he had fed and the alcohol was making him fuzzy-headed. 

Darla's visit had rattled him. Not the least, her offer to take him back. Returning to the 'family' now was not an option. Darla might have forgotten those final miserable months of their life together but Angel certainly hadn't. She had made her distaste for his altered condition perfectly clear – his human soul disgusted her. The pain of her rejection was all the more acute because it was her fault - she had brought him the gypsy girl who's family cursed him with the return of his soul – then conveniently forgot her role in his metamorphosis, treating him like a pariah until he slunk away, alone and wretched. 

And now she was here. In Sunnydale. The sight of her, the faint musky scent of cool flesh and warm blood – she had fed recently – and her voice. How long since he had heard that voice - the silken sound of moonlight on moth wings – call him by name? Call him Angelus? Almost a century. Too long . . . not long enough. 

The Powers That Be had wanted him there for the Harvest, of that he was certain. But what then? Beyond that he was on his own. There had been no instructions post-Harvest. Perhaps they thought he would just fade into the background again once his mission was over. Back to L.A.'s seamy underbelly. Back to the rat-infested tunnels and the alleys he had shared with the homeless and destitute. Maybe they had not expected him to survive. Hell, he hadn't expected it himself. Most likely they had not given it any thought at all. 

But Angel had survived and here he still remained. He had decided to stay on out of a desire to help the Slayer and her friends, to add his strength to theirs. That's what he had told the dark-haired woman from the Council of Watchers anyhow. The one with the haunting green eyes and defensive attitude. She had believed him; accepted him as a fellow soldier against the forces of evil. And why not? He had almost convinced himself of it; almost believed he was doing this out of a sense of duty. Taking the higher road. Acting for the greater good. Like anything good ever came from foulness. Only it was really out of a sense of desperation. To be a part of something better than himself. Part of a new family. 

He shook his head as he walked along. What was he thinking? A new family? That was crazy. Even if the Slayer and her little group of crusaders had accepted him as an ally during the Master's attempted coup, they would never trust him now. Not after he had almost bitten Buffy. Shit, he couldn't even trust himself. 

'I thought he could control it - the bloodlust - but I can't,' Angel mumbled to himself. 'I know that now.' This was getting him nowhere. His futile musings, like his meandering footsteps echoing along the almost-deserted suburban streets, both were aimless, pointless. 

Perhaps it would be better if I left after all, he thought. Buffy will be safer with me out of the picture. God, I wanted so much to tell Buffy the truth that first night before . . . well, before it became moot. Angel sighed. Darla will target her now because of me or target the people close to her. Maybe if I'm gone . . . or dead . . . she'll leave Buffy alone. Darla never was one to fight on without a good reason. 

*********

Darla followed closely behind Buffy's mother, changing into her game face as the woman opened the door of refrigerator. 

'Let's see what we have,' Joyce said, moving a plate of cold cuts left over from last night's dinner. 'Do you feel like something little or something big?' 

'Something big!' 

*********

The streets were mostly deserted. One or two pedestrians, looking ill at ease, hurried by. No one travelled Sunnydale on foot after dark. Not if they could help it. Occasionally a car passed, windows up and lights on high beam. Once, a late model sedan had slowed down to keep pace with him for a few seconds, then sped on. Angel stopped at the corner and read the street sign. 

Revello Drive. Buffy's street. 

I'll tell her I'm leaving, he thought. Just so she won't be . . . well, not concerned exactly, I can hardly expect that now, can I? . . . but not worried about me turning up, getting in the way . . . vamping out again. Distracting her from her Slayer duties. 

But standing at the door Angel had second thoughts. What would this achieve after all? Buffy would be upset, angry. Apologies would be worthless; any attempt at an explanation could only make matters worse. There was nothing he could say to take back the last few days. Best just to go . . . move on. Like he had done so many times before. 

Angel turned to leave. 

Then he heard a scream. 

*********

As Joyce's blood spilled into Darla's hungry mouth the vampire felt a familiar heat course through her body. Starting on her lips and in her belly, it spread quickly, warming her limbs and pinking her cheeks with false life. 

Suddenly, the back door slammed open, hitting the wall with a loud crack. It was Angel. 

'Let her go!' 

'I just had a little, there's plenty more.' Darla held the swooning Joyce tightly and offered Angel a bloodied smile. She had not expected this, had only wanted to hurt the Slayer. This was serendipity and she would make the most of it. 'Aren't you hungry for something warm after all this time? Come on, Angel. Just say yes!' 

Then Joyce was in his arms, the open wounds seeping crimson just inches from his lips. Angel could smell the blood, an aromatic echo of the taste he knew so well. He swallowed hard but that only succeeded in carrying the faint coppery saltiness across his tongue. It had been years, decades since he tasted human blood. It would be so easy to take just a little. He tore his eyes away from the twin punctures of Darla's bite but the scent still flooded his senses. 

Darla relaxed and smiled again as Angel slipped into his game face. His feral eyes and rumbling growl told her that he had already forgotten who this woman was. She was nothing to him now – nothing but food – and he was starving. Darla stepped forward and placed a now-warm hand against his cool cheek. 

'Welcome home.' 

*********


	8. The Serpent and the Slayer

**Part Seven: The Serpent and the Slayer.**

  


Diary entry, Sunnydale, undated: 

Buffy's mother is in hospital recovering (thank God for small mercies) from a vampire attack. I'm heading over there now. See if I can offer any assistance. 

Rupert was right after all. This is all my fault. It may not have happened if I'd listened to my instincts. Acknowledged Angel for what I knew he must be. Warned them. 

I just wanted to believe … 

Well, none of that matters now I guess. 

- Julia Devereaux   


*********

  


Julia leaned against the wall by the doorway to Joyce's hospital room, head down and arms crossed, deep in thought. Giles was inside talking quietly with the injured woman. Buffy had already gone, having left just minutes before Julia arrived at the hospital. 

Gone to deal with Angel. 

Glancing up, Julia looked across the hall at Willow and Xander sitting dejectedly in the middle of a row of uncomfortable grey plastic chairs, looking for all the world like two naughty school kids waiting to be called into the principal's office. At any other time the thought would have been amusing. But not now. Willow had earlier offered to get coffees all round but Julia declined, feeling so constricted by guilt and worry she could barely breathe, let alone swallow. 

How can I have been so very wrong? she thought. It's not like I haven't had enough . . . experience . . . with vampires before. 

Julia reached up to rub her stiff neck muscles, letting out a deep breath that she hadn't realised she had been holding. 

I may have made some . . . irregular . . . decisions in the past, and they may not always have turned out well, but I always knew what I was up against. What they were. Only not this time. Why not? What is so different about this vampire? 

Buffy knew that Julia had spoken with Angel at the Bronze but the older woman had not mentioned that she had also been to his apartment. Somehow, she didn't think that piece of information would have gone down too well with either Buffy or Giles, though for different reasons. And how could she explain why she went there in the first place? To clean up a deep knife wound that there was now no evidence of? She rubbed one hand across her ribs, remembering the harsh grating of the switchblade across bone. Hardly. 

Inside the hospital room, Joyce was telling Giles how much she appreciated 'the school's' interest in Buffy. She thanked Giles for his support. Julia was only half listening to the conversation, the words blurring into the background of her own confused internal dialogue. 

'Darla?' Giles was saying. 'I … I … don't believe I know, uh...' 

'Her friend,' Joyce replied. 'The one who came over tonight.' 

Julia stiffened. Darla? She swung around to stand framed in the doorway. Giles heard the movement and turned to look at her, his expression puzzled and concerned, then turned back to Joyce. 

'Darla came to your house tonight? She's the friend that you mentioned earlier?' 

'Poor thing, I must've frightened her half to death when I fainted. Someone should really check and make sure she's alright.' 

'Yes, someone should, right away.' Giles stood up quickly, pulling on his coat. 'I'll do it.' He walked out of the room and looked around for Julia. 

She was already gone. 

*********

Buffy walked the streets a few blocks from the Bronze, crossbow at the ready, letting her senses guide her. He was here, she felt it clearly now, somewhere close by. Laughing, probably. Thinking how easy it had been to seduce the Slayer. To make her feel . . . what exactly? What was the point of him getting close to her if not to destroy her? To enjoy making her feel foolish and vulnerable? Was it just a twisted game to him? Some cruel amusement to be had before killing her and moving on? 

But he hadn't tried to seduce her, had he? Let alone kill her. Only slept beside her, on the floor. Like a gentleman. Like the gallant hero of one of those cheap romance novels that her Mom liked to read over late morning coffee on the weekends, their lurid covers bent way back so her teenage daughter couldn't see. 

Buffy shuddered as the recollection of her mother, pale and bloodied, swooning in the arms of that monster flashed up in her memory again like a still from some third rate horror flick. Only this time it wasn't some make-believe cheap thriller she could walk away from, giggling with her friends over the cheesy monsters and empty-headed teen-queen victims. This time it was for real. Those first few gut-wrenching moments when she thought her mother was dead, before the smallest moan escaped her blueing lips, the sweetest of sounds. A tiny, blessed whisper but still loud enough to be heard over the booming roar of Buffy's pounding heart. Those moments she would never forget. Or forgive. 

'I should have killed you then, you bastard,' she whispered. I should have killed you that first night, as soon as I saw you for what you really were. 

*********

Darla lay on her side on the Corbusier lounger still wearing the school uniform, her legs drawn up and crossed at the ankles, blonde head on pale hands, white skin glowing against the black leather. 

This time it was Angel who paced the room. 

'So, lover,' she crooned, 'what do you imagine your little Slayer thinks of you now, hmm?' She reached her arms back over her head and stretched out, arching her back like a kitten in front of the fire. 'Now that her dream lover has become her worst nightmare?' 

She hates me; fears me. Maybe enough to kill me, Angel thought. Which is exactly what I hope will happen before this night is over. 

Darla mistook his silence for pensiveness and continued to press the point. She rose and began to follow him around the room, close enough that he could smell the reek of Joyce's blood on her breath as she spoke. Close enough to envelop him in the old fashioned fragrance she always wore – Attar of Roses – redolent with memories of death and joy. Angelus's memories. 

'Did you really believe a few gentle words and a pretty gift or two would make her love you? Think you worthy?' Darla slipped her small hand under his arm and turned around him to face her. 'She hates you now. Despises you.' On tiptoe, she raised her face to his, her eyelashes fluttering against his cheek like tiny moths. 'She'll never love you like I did,' she whispered. 'Like I can again, if only you'll come back to me.' Her lips were still warm from her feeding as she mumbled against his cold, closed ones. 'It can be like it was before.' 

Angel knew that it would not even enter her head that he might choose to die rather than come back to her. 

Which was precisely the reason that she would also be dead by morning. If he was going, at least he would take Darla with him. 

If he had time. 

If Buffy let him live that long. 

Angel trembled as Darla's tongue began to probe more earnestly against his mouth. The after-taste of blood would be more than he could bear. Placing both hands on her shoulders, he gently but firmly pushed her away. 

Anger began to blaze in Darla's eyes. She opened her mouth to speak again then froze, listening intently to some small sound carried up from the alley below. Slowly, her passionless smile reappeared. She reached up again to stroke Angel's cheek, brushing a thumb across his unresponsive lips. 

'She's here. Let's go downstairs and get this over with.' 

*********

Julia ran through the night streets towards the Bronze, ducking through laneways and cutting across suburban lawns and gardens on the way. The MG remained in the hospital car park; in the winding residential streets it would only have slowed her down. 

Occasionally, in her mad dash across town, she disturbed some dozing mutt whose indignant barking caused house lights to flare on as she passed. But few in Sunnydale cared to venture outside to investigate the sound of rapid footfalls in the dark. 

As Julia rounded the corner of the alley behind the Bronze, she saw the ground level door swing shut on two figures. Angel and Darla. Side by side. 

She paused. 

What the hell were they doing here together? Was Angel in league with the other vampires after all? 

Julia looked around, confused, and debated whether to go in after them. If Angel really had gone bad . . . well, there was no way she could take on both of them alone. 

And where was Buffy? Giles said she had headed for the Bronze almost half an hour ago. Even with a stop off at the library's hidden armoury, she should have been here by now. 

Unless she was already inside. 

Julia started up the external fire escape, intending to enter by one of the windows above the mezzanine level. The outward opening panes had been left slightly open to air out the place after the recent fumigation and she thought she could reach the lower sill if she jumped for it. 

Climbing up on the railing she was just able to grab the bottom of the window's frame and swing it open a little further. Hoisting herself up, boots scraping against the brickwork, she managed to get her arms and head through the opening when she heard the cavernous 'pop!' of something hollow and vitreous striking the cement floor inside. 

'Shit!' Julia cursed, in absentia, the bloody idiot who had left his empty beer bottle on the ledge! 

Then, just as she started to register movement behind her in the dark, someone grabbed her from behind. 

*********

For the second time Buffy circled the block, halting at the side door to the Bronze, slipping a bolt into the crossbow and pulling the string taught. Her senses tingled but she could not quite locate the source. 

In a way she was glad it had turned out like this. Not about her Mom being hurt of course . . . she would never forgive herself for having let that happen, for inviting that animal into their home. For putting her mother in danger. Everything Buffy had gone through at Hemery, the fights, the fire, the afternoons spent sitting outside the principal's office, then the counsellor's office, and finally, those never-spoken-of weeks 'resting' in that awful psychiatric ward, each incident etched the worry lines deeper and deeper into her mother's hurt expression. Buffy had sworn that her Mom would not suffer any more pain because of her daughter's 'calling'. 

That was why they had come to Sunnydale in the first place, wasn't it? To leave all that behind and make a fresh start. To try to forget, to let it go. Only it wouldn't let her go; it just kept dragging her back into the fray. 

Well, Angel, she thought, you've certainly reminded me of what I'm here to do; what I'm fighting for. I guess I can thank you for that at least. 

Buffy's reverie was interrupted by the sound of glass smashing somewhere inside the Bronze. Heading around to the other side of the building, she slipped into the alley through a break in the chain-link fence. 

The door to the rear entrance was open. Raising the crossbow to chest level, she went inside. 

*********

The huge vampire dragged Julia roughly through the open window and onto the mezzanine, bumping her hip hard against the sill. He smelled of the slaughterhouse, one meaty hand clamped tightly over her mouth and nose, the other arm around her waist, pinning her crushingly close. Julia struggled and tried to kick, grabbing his massive arms with both hands but he simply lifted her off her feet and pulled her into the darkness. 

In the shadows Darla was waiting. Looking like the cat that got the cream, the blonde vampire put a finger to her lips to indicate silence, then turned away to watch two figures on the floor beneath. 

Buffy had just entered the building. 

Julia could hear what was going on but could not make much sense of it. Angel seemed to be baiting Buffy, goading her into attacking him. Was this some prelude to the two vampires launching a joint attack on the Slayer? Angel trying to psych her out while Darla lurked in the wings, ready to unite with her vampire lover in destroying the girl? 

There was a sharp crack as a crossbow bolt missed its target and hit the wall. Angel had not been dusted; Julia could hear him laughing. Slayer and prey moved across the dancefloor to the other side of the room. Faint illumination from the street lighting seeped in through the upper level windows and Julia could see the adversaries clearly in the half-dark. Angel had morphed into his vampire state and Buffy circled him as they talked, crossbow once more at the ready. 

Julia ceased to struggle and the big vampire moved forward a little, still grasping her tightly against his broad torso, both equally fascinated by the goings-on down below. It was hypnotic, the interplay of voices and movement, the basic dichotomy between what was being said and what was intended. It was like watching a mongoose and a snake. Would he strike? Would she hesitate? 

From the corner of her eye Julia glanced at the vampire beside her. Darla looked pleased. Smug even. Then Angel began to speak about a gypsy girl, and his voice changed. No longer harsh and spiteful, his words were now low and a little shaky. Whatever he was saying, it was no longer just empty threat and bluster. It was something true and painful, something real. Darla's smile faded and she stepped forward a little further, leaning over the rail to see, quietly urging him to stop talking and get it over with. 

The big vampire also shuffled forward again, trying to follow the action, until Julia was just inches from the railing. Buffy was less than a hand span away from Angel, daring him to bite her. Despite all his bravado, the vampire seemed uncertain. 

'Do it!' Darla whispered. 'Do it now!' 

But it was too late; the moment had passed. Angel admitted that he had not attacked Joyce. 

Darla swore and started down the shadowed stairway. 

*********

Giles winced at the sound of crunching gears as he pulled the old Citroen over to the kerb half a block from the Bronze. As soon as the car jerked to a stop, Willow and Xander leapt out and ran for the nightclub's side entrance. Giles caught up with them as Willow tried the door. 

It was locked. 

*********

Buffy and Angel turned as one, identical expressions of amazement and dismay on their faces as Darla strode out of the shadows with a pistol in each hand. Pointing one of the handguns at Angel she pulled the trigger, the force of the bullet at such close range almost knocking him off his feet. She moved to stand over him where he crouched clutching the already congealing wound and waved the gun in his face. 

'Do I have to do everything myself?' she shouted, lowering her transformed face to his. Putting her booted foot to his thigh she shoved him hard and he fell back against the wall with a grunt. 'You ungrateful bastard!' Darla was already angry that Angel had refused to feed on the Slayer's mother and now this, this persistent and stubborn refusal to do what had to be done. Well, it was becoming tiresome. She had been sure that Angelus – her beautiful, deadly Angelus – only wanted to punish her over their falling-out, was teasing her the way he used to and would come around eventually. His continued rejection of what she offered him, blood, power – even herself - puzzled and infuriated her. 'I was a fool to think you could be cured of this disease . . .' she spat, 'that the disgusting taint of conscience might be removed. That your humanity could be unmade!' 

'Yeah,' Angel replied calmly. 'You were.' 

*********

At the sound of the shot, Giles and the teenagers froze. 

'The back door!' Xander yelled, leading the way around to the alley behind the building. 

*********

Another arrow struck the wall above her head. Darla hissed with displeasure and swung around looking for the Slayer but Buffy had moved off to reload the crossbow and now stood behind one of the pool tables across the room. 

'You're aware, of course, that the two of you can never be together?' Darla stepped over Angel's legs, casually positioning for a better shot at Buffy. 'Nothing lasts forever, you know. Not desire, not need. Not even love.' Angel barked a short laugh and she snapped him a disapproving glance. 'Oh, it would be good for a while. A decade or two. Maybe even three,' she continued. 'Really good,' she purred, smiling at Angel who turned away. 'I can vouch for that.' 

Buffy stared back at her intently now. Darla noted the tightening of the young girl's jaw and her quick, shallow breathing, relishing the knowledge that her words had found their target. She knew the Slayer had had the same thoughts, had heard her voice the same concerns to Willow just hours before. She shrugged. 'But then what, hmm? When you're old? Will it be the same when you're in love with a man who looks young enough to be your son? Or will there be tears and recriminations?' she added nastily. 'Hard words and hurt?' 

Buffy's eyes dropped for a second as the reality of the situation, the hopelessness, struck home. Darla quickly fired and missed, chipping a corner off the table instead. Looking over her shoulder at Angel, who was on his feet again, she shrugged then turned back to Buffy and laughed. 

'Did either of you really think this little love story would have a happy ending? I mean, come on,' she brought the guns around to face Buffy. 'Things are pretty grim, I'll admit, but don't expect any fairy-tale endings!' 

Darla fired again, both barrels this time, taking twin chunks out of the wall just inches from Buffy's head. Buffy hit the floor and rolled, coming back up onto her feet several feet away, all in one fluid movement. 

'Pity your aim isn't as sharp as your wit, Darla.' Buffy raised the crossbow again and loosed a third bolt, this one finding its mark, driving into Darla's torso with a dull smack. 

'Close, but no heart.' The blonde vampire eased the arrow out slowly, wincing a little as the tip caught on bone before popping out from between her ribs. Darla snapped the shaft and threw the pieces behind her onto the floor. 

Up on the mezzanine the big vampire began to jerk, a guttural huffing sound coming from deep in his massive chest. 

Julia realised he was laughing. 

All three figures below looked up to see the giant vampire, almost seven feet tall, grinning wildly as he clasped the English woman tightly against his massive form, her face almost obscured by one huge paw. His filthy black tee shirt had 'Sunnydale Meatworks' written across the blood-soaked front. 

'Darla!' Angel lurched to his feet and grabbed for the female vampire but she stepped easily out of his way. 

'You didn't think I came alone, did you?' Darla smirked. 

'Neither did I …,' Buffy added as three figures burst in through the rear door and dived for cover behind a group of sofas, '… apparently.' 

Julia forced herself relax, dropping her arms to her sides, hoping her captor would think she had passed out. Anyone else would have by now; she hadn't been able to take a breath since he'd jumped her. She felt the big vampire begin to relax too. 

Using just her fingertips Julia eased the hilt of the dagger out of the leather sheath that bound it to the thigh of her jeans until the snake-bodied grip rested fully in the palm of her right hand. Slowly she lifted up one foot then the other, until both knees were pressing against her stomach, heels braced hard against the rail. The undead slaughterman, realising she was still conscious, started to pull her away. 

'Well, how nice,' Darla said. 'The whole gang's here to cheer you on! And how convenient for me,' she added darkly. 

'Buffy, are you alright?' Giles's head appeared from behind the furniture and immediately Darla leapt up on top of the pool table loosing a volley of shots that tore into the velvet sofa, shredding fabric and stuffing before thudding into the wall behind. 

'Giles!' Buffy yelled, letting fly the last arrow. It went wide. 'Keep down!' 

Throwing the now-useless weapon aside she lunged for the table, grabbed the edge with both hands and shoved as hard as she could, sending the table skidding in the opposite direction with Darla still firing from a prone position on the felt-covered slate.   
  
On the floor above, Julia shoved against the barrier as hard as she could, the vampire grunting in surprise as their joint momentum propelled them both backwards, off balance. As they hit the wall together, Julia brought the knife up as high as possible under her own left armpit, ramming the point up and back with both hands, praying the silver-enclosed wooden blade would reach the heart. 

She fell heavily against the back wall as the vampire crumbled to powder behind her. When the dust cleared, Julia inhaled the first deep breath she had taken since she had been grabbed on the fire escape and stepped forward again to look over the handrail. 

Giles had managed to locate the stage controls, hoping to bring up the house lights but hit the strobe by mistake, the sudden pulsing brilliance almost blinding vampires and humans alike. 

At least Darla had stopped shooting. 

Raising herself up from where she knelt on the pool table, Darla started to walk forward across the slate, the flickering blue light showing her game face for what it truly was, an expression of ancient demonic evil. 

Julia hefted the dagger again and threw it at Darla. 

The pure silver scored a long blistering scratch across the vampire's cheek, her enraged scream not masking the momentary sizzle as the razor sharp blade seared through dead flesh then clattered onto the floor behind her. Darla fired a couple of wild shots up into the mezzanine but Julia was already out of sight. Turning her attention back to the floor, Darla saw that Buffy had also moved further off into the shadows, trying to draw fire away from Giles, Willow and Xander. 

'No more time for games,' Darla growled. 

Shots peppered the walls and furniture as Buffy dove out of the way, the hail of bullets smashing a display cabinet and showering her with broken glass. Scrabbling amongst the shards and smashed shelving, Buffy reached for a piece of the cabinet's wooden frame. Grasping a long thin spike with the tip shredded to a sharp point, she stepped out of the wreckage to face Darla, barely flinching as another rain of bullets threw up chips of glass and wood from the mess around her feet. 

When the firing pins finally clicked on empty chambers, Darla tossed both guns aside and motioned for Buffy to step forward. 

'C'mon, Buffy,' she taunted. 'Take it like a man!' 

'You're right,' Buffy replied, hefting the improvised stake to shoulder level. 'Let's get serious.' 

'Darla.' Angel's voice in the flickering darkness was quiet but compelling, breaking the tension between the two women. 'There's no need for this.' He crossed the room to stand before Darla, lifting one hand to her ashen face and running a thumb across the sharpness of her distended cheekbone. 'I'll come with you, if you still want me.' 

'Lover,' Darla crooned, 'I never doubted it.' She turned back to face Buffy, who looked stricken and confused, then returned her amber gaze to Angel. 'Just as soon as we're done here.' 

Lowering his lips to hers, Angel drew Darla close. Kissing her deeply, he pulled back a little and whispered, 'I'm sorry.' 

'Angel?' Darla's bewilderment changed to utter disbelief as she saw the serpent's tooth dagger in her Childe's hand. She struggled to pull away but his other hand gripped her firmly by the back of the neck. The pulsing of the strobe light lent the scene an impossibly surreal slowness as Angel plunged the blade deep into his Sire's heart. 

Darla fell to the floor, a single tortured scream escaping with the demon soul as it fled into the ether, scattering the physical body to dust with the force of its passing. 

Angel stared at Darla's ashes for long moments, finally releasing his grip on the dagger and letting it fall. Only then did he look up to see Buffy picking her way across the debris, the makeshift stake still in her hand. 

Giles and the others came out from behind the wrecked furniture, the Watcher quickly moving to switch off the strobe, this time finding the right switch to turn on the house lights. Julia still watched from the floor above. 

Buffy approached until she stood directly in front of the remaining vampire. Angel stared down into her pale face, an almost-smile beginning to form as he raised his hand to smooth the tiny crinkles from between her questioning eyes. As she opened her mouth to speak, Angel dropped his hand and walked away, not pausing as he heard the sound of the wooden stake clatter to the floor. 

*********


	9. Epilogue: The Vampire and the Maiden

**Epilogue: The Vampire and the Maiden.**

Diary entry, Sunnydale, undated: 

The old man's predictions have been on my mind lately. I took out my last diary – the one I closed off when I left London those few short months ago. Feels like a lot longer. Looking back over my notes, it's eerie how accurate he was. 

Or maybe not. Maybe this was all meant to be – karma, fate, whatever. Maybe I just want it to be . . . I don't know, destiny or something. That would ease my guilt a little I suppose. Still, it is weird . . . 

My London diary talks about an abyss. Power flows from it, the old man said, and the evil one imprisoned inside fails in his cause. There's a 'darkening of the light' when a man with a troubled soul resolves to fight on the side of good. 'Darkness has caused him to lower his wings; having once climbed to heaven he is now descended to the earth.' Could this be a reference to Angel? 

Then a passage that must refer to the Master again. 'The leader of an ancient clan bites through flesh.' And there's a warrior who 'encounters many demons.' 

Buffy is unmistakable as the Maiden who has 'remained undisciplined beyond the proper time. The chosen one, whose weapons have been concealed'. Who, 'in the company of allies, will walk alone,' and who 'wields weapons of fire and wood but draws no blood.' 

There could hardly be a better description of a vampire slayer. 

But who is the one 'thought weak' who 'will come to wield great power'? 

I guess time will tell. 

- Julia Devereaux 

*********

Almost midnight. The blinds were drawn up and the full moon shone into the apartment, the only light. Music from the bands performing at the Bronze's 'Post-Fumigation Grand Re-Opening Party' had been audible for several hours and would be playing for at least an hour or two more. Nursing yet another whisky from the previous tenant's ample supply, Angel stretched out on the Corbusier, trying to think of nothing in particular. 

The vampire became aware of a presence in the hallway, someone standing outside, hesitating, moments before he heard the knock on the door. 

'Buffy?' Angel leapt up and swung the door wide open. 

But it wasn't the Slayer. 

'Sorry,' Julia said, shrugging. 'Just me.' Angel smiled self-consciously, looking a little disappointed and she was disturbed to find it hurt a little. 'Well?' she prompted. 'Can I come in?' 

'Sure.' Angel stood aside to let her through into the living area. She noticed his right hand was bandaged, somewhat clumsily. 

'So,' Julia began, giving him a sardonic look. 'Vampire, huh?' 

'Yeah.' Angel was obviously uncomfortable but the dark English beauty tuned on a dazzling smile. 

'Bummer!' she remarked cheekily, pleased to see him relax a little, hanging his head to hide the beginnings of a smile. 

'Well, it can be a little inconvenient,' Angel admitted. 

'I'll bet.' Julia looked around the room. He had moved some things around since last time. Added some new prints. Nice.   
  
'I guess you'd know all about that.' 

'What?' Julia swung around, looking shocked. 

'Isn't that what you do? Research vampires?' Angel continued. 'History, biology . . . habits.' 

'Oh . . . yes. Of course.' Julia turned away, closely studying various bits and pieces by the open window. 

'But, I guess you're not here for that, right?' 

'No. Not really,' she replied. 'You have something of mine, I think.' 

Angel looked puzzled until Julia pulled the front of her coat aside to reveal the empty scabbard on her thigh. He nodded then walked over to a antique tansu chest and opened the lowest drawer, removing a silk-wrapped object. He handed it over to Julia who immediately peeled back the red silk square and held the dagger up to the moonlight, turning it over and testing the tip with the pad of her thumb. 

'No damage, ' she remarked, breathing a visible sign of relief. 'I went back to look for it after . . . afterwards. But it was gone. I was afraid someone else might have picked it up.' She slipped the weapon back into the leather covering. 

Angel marvelled at how much more relaxed Julia seemed than during their previous meetings, even though she knew for sure what he was now. She did not seem at all uncomfortable with the idea. Probably nothing new to her, he supposed. Once again, he realised how much she reminded him of Ariel. Confident, graceful, and a little irreverent. As she turned away from the window, he noticed how the moonbeams gave her smooth black hair a silver sheen. He wondered what it might look like in sunlight. 

'Beautiful,' he mumbled. 

'What?' 

'The dagger. It's a Slayer's weapon, isn't it? I'm surprised the Council of Watchers let it out of the Archive.' 

Julia nodded towards Angel's bandaged hand. 'How's it feel?' 

'It's OK.' He looked down at the badly wrapped injury and flexed his palm, wincing a little. 

'Let me see.' Julia moved closer to take his hand in hers and began removing the bindings. Exposed, the entire skin of his palm was blistered black from its contact with the silver-handled dagger. Bloody fluid oozed from deep cracks in the scorched skin. Julia took a slightly shaky breath at the sight of it then looked up into his dark brown eyes. 'How does it really feel?' 

'Painful. It burns still . . . and throbs,' he admitted. 'I haven't slept.' 

'I brought something that may help.' Julia searched the pockets of her coat, producing a small crystal perfume bottle filled with a peach coloured fluid. Removing her coat she threw it over the lounger then took Angel's hand in hers again. 

Turning it palm up she poured a little of the creamy liquid onto the burn. Angel gasped as the drops hit the damaged flesh. It felt like ice falling on hot coals, almost sizzling. Julia quickly pulled her own hand away. 

'Maybe you should do this yourself,' she suggested, already a little uncomfortable with the feel of the vampire's cool skin against hers. 

'Keep going,' he said, smiling and holding his hand out ot her. 'You're doing fine.' 

As she applied the thin ointment the open wound began to close over, the skin on the outer edges of the burn starting to turn pink almost immediately. 

'Well, will you look at that!' Julia exclaimed. 'It actually works!' 

'You sound surprised,' Angel remarked. 'Haven't you used it before?' 

'Not really. Not much call for Watchers Council personnel to be practicing the healing arts on vampires. It's meant to neutralise the minute traces of silver that remain in the wound but I had no idea it would work this fast.' 

The worst of the damaged area began to soften and peel off like severe sunburn, thick and pliable, with new skin already forming underneath. 

'Where did you get it then?' 

'It's an ancient Chinese recipe called 'Dragon Tears'. I found it in a scroll of herbal remedies recorded by the court apothecary of a Qin Dynasty prince from a remote province who the Council believed was a vampire. The prince that is, not the apothecary. The document was the first thing I translated when I joined the Council's research department.' 

'A Chinese vampire prince? You're kidding?' 

Julia poured a little more of the ointment onto the wound and worked it in with both thumbs, massaging the ointment deep into the tissue. 

'Nope. Mainstream scholars think the appellation 'The Bloodthirsty' referred to his propensity for torturing his enemies, like Vlad the Impaler . . . ' she trailed off when she noticed Angel grinning broadly. 'Have I said something amusing?' 

'It's just that I haven't heard anyone use the words 'appellation' or 'propensity' in conversation before.' 

'You're not really in a position to be mocking me, you know.' Julia smiled and handed Angel the crystal bottle. 'You're obviously well enough to finish that yourself.' 

Leaving Angel to continue applying the salve himself, Julia strolled around the apartment, admiring the antiques. 

'You have some very interesting pieces.' A stone statuette caught her eye. 'This is especially lovely. Tang Dynasty, isn't it?' 

Angel shrugged. 'I don't know. It's not mine. It came with the apartment.' 

Julia was surprised, and a little disappointed. She was used to 'her' vampires being sophisticated. Nick and Lucian, the Venetian vampire Lorenzo, the Ventrue Clan and others she had spent time with, all had excellent taste and a deep appreciation of art and history. But Angel was young at just over 200, almost still an adolescent in vampire terms. She turned to face him again. 

'How long since you've fed?' 

Angel, caught off guard by the sudden and uncomfortable change in topic, was unsure how to answer. 

'More than two weeks, at least, I'd say.' Julia had noticed how sunken and bruised-looking was the skin under Angel's eyes. His hand had felt dry and papery. 

Finally, he nodded. 'Almost three.' 

'There's a bar in town. Willy's. They can organise it . . . or so I hear. Contacts at the blood bank or some such.' 

'Yeah. I know.' 

'Then why haven't you been feeding?' Julia's voice took on a serious edge. 

'That question's a little personal, don't you think?' 

'No. I don't. Not feeding makes the hunger strong, less controllable. Makes you more of a danger. And if you're going to remain in Sunnydale, it's better by far that you have control over your appetites.' 

'I'm not sure yet that I will stay.' 

Julia sat down on the lounger, reaching across the sideboard under the window to pick up the ivory netsuke depicting a pair of Japanese lovers. 

'Angel, you would have been gone by now if you didn't intend to stay.' 

'I wanted to kill Buffy that night.' 

'Really? I got the impression she was the only one you didn't want to die in that fight.' 

Angel did not answer. This was uncomfortably close to the truth. He re-stoppered the ointment bottle and handed it back to Julia who slipped it back into the pocket of the coat draped beside her. 

'It can't have been easy for you, killing your own Sire. Or was that a last-minute decision?' 

'You still don't really trust me, do you?' 

Julia merely raised an eyebrow in reply. 

'Isn't it enough that I made the choice?' Angel was angry now. And hurting. Julia could see that but would not allow her sympathies to stop her from saying what had to be said. 

'It isn't so much a matter of trust as it is of dependability. If you're unsure of your own motivations . . . if you should end up, shall we say 'reconsidering' your options, or your alliances, at a later time . . . Well, you can understand my concerns.' 

Angel shook his head, unwilling to say more. No one had ever spoken to him like this before, questioned him, expected him to justify his actions. It was unfamiliar and disturbing . . . and far too intimate. Worse, it made him reflect on the very things he had been trying to avoid thinking about for the two days and nights since Darla died. 

'Angel,' Julia continued, more kindly. 'I have some idea of what it must have cost you to make that choice. I know the bond between Sire and Childe is a fundamental and compelling one. For a vampire to destroy the one who created him is extraordinary . . . almost unheard of. I need to know that you are clear on why you did it. Was it to free yourself? Or to be certain she wasn't left behind to make trouble for Buffy after you were gone?' She paused. 'A vampire with a death wish is hardly a reliable ally.' 

Angel reflected on how long it had been since he had opened up to anyone about . . . well, anything really. Anything real. It had become second nature to tell only half-truths, so easy to couch every conversation in euphemism and outright lies. He had wanted so much to tell Buffy everything, knowing that it was impossible; there was so much she would not have understood or accepted. A young girl, the Slayer . . . how could she? 

But maybe somebody else could. 

'I've been a coward,' he began quietly. 'I should have done it myself, got it over and done with. Not expected Buffy to do it. I guess I'd convinced myself that it would be . . . I don't know . . . fitting or noble somehow, to have the Slayer end it. I've lived a long time.' Angel had turned away as he spoke and did not notice Julia hang her head at those words. 'Almost three centuries if you count my life before I met Darla, most of it bloody and pointless. I just wanted it to be over.' Angel looked back across the room at Julia. She was sitting on the edge of the lounger staring down at the tiny netsuke she held in her hand, turning it over and over. Was she even listening? 'I guess you'd find that hard to understand.' 

Lost in recollections of the past, Julia whispered, 'I have lived too long, aisuru.' Looking up at Angel's puzzled expression, she added, 'Oh, I understand alright.' She stood and picked up her coat, preparing to leave. 

At the door, Julia stopped, realising she still held the little ivory carving. She held it out to Angel, placing it in the centre of his now fully healed hand. 

'I guess you have some decisions to make, then,' she said. 

Angel, confused by the sudden change in her demeanour, opened the door. The music from the nightclub swelled, loud and lively. He realised suddenly that he did not want to be alone just yet; too many unpleasant memories had surfaced, clamoured in his mind now, waiting to drag themselves up for full and bitter review when there was no longer any conversation to drown them out. 

'Have you seen Buffy since the other night. Is she OK?' 

'Maybe you'd better ask her yourself.' Julia stepped into the hallway. 'She's downstairs now.' 

'I thought you didn't approve of me seeing Buffy,' Angel said, smiling a little. 'You know, in your official Watcher capacity and all.' 

Julia considered this for a moment, remembering the last entry in her diary. 

'Perhaps some things are destined to be. Besides,' she added. 'I have a feeling Buffy is one Slayer who intends to do things her own way. And so far, that's worked out pretty well.' 

'And the Council of Watchers, do they support that theory too?' 

'Well, seeing as how I write all the monthly progress reports,' Julia replied, offering another, gentler smile, 'I expect I shall just have to put a slightly more . . . conventional . . . spin on things, shan't I?' 

'Why do you do it? Work for the Council, I mean. You obviously don't agree with the way things are done.' 

'I don't know. Maybe that is the reason. Change the system from within and all that.' Julia replied lightly but was taken aback by the question. She was uncomfortable being put on the spot, having the tables turned and asked to take stock of her own motives. 'The Watchers Council was my life for a long time. I felt I was part of something . . . I don't know . . . important? Something that was a force for good in the world. Then, one day, the system and I no longer seemed to be such a good fit anymore and I left.' 

'So what happened? Why'd you come back?' 

Julia shrugged. 

'Trying to redeem myself, I guess.' 

*********

Down in the Bronze Giles endured the discordant, too loud music and waited for Julia to return. She had gone to speak with Management about her lost dagger but seemed to be taking an awfully long time. What if they were asking awkward questions? He was getting worried. He sighed. Pretty much par for the course lately. Always seemed to be one thing or another. Watching, waiting, worrying. Oh, dear. 

One of the pool tables and several pieces of furniture were missing. Posters covered odd places on the walls. Buffy and the others, now up on the dancefloor, had looked a little guilty when they arrived, especially after overhearing staff talk about the damage they found when opening up the place the morning before last. 

Kids, they said. Delinquents. Vandals. 

Giles was relieved when Julia finally returned and took her seat beside him. 

'Did you find it?' 

Julia smiled, crossed her long legs and tapped the leather sheath. 

'No inconvenient questions from the manager?' Giles asked. 

'Not a one,' she replied, quite truthfully. 'Don't look so glum, old boy.' She patted her friend on the knee. 'How about I get us another round of drinks? A whisky for you, Rupert?' 

Giles nodded, still not completely at ease and looked around the room, trying to figure out when music had changed. Stopped being entertainment and turned into so much incomprehensible brain anaesthesia. 

God, he thought, I'm only in my late forties. When did I get so old! 

Across the room, Buffy, Willow and Xander were sitting with some other teenagers from school. At least Giles assumed they were from school. Not that he knew any of them by sight. At times he wondered if some practical joker didn't set up an 'Off Limits' sign outside the library each morning after he arrived. 

He sighed again. 

All for the best really, he thought. Can't have folks just popping in, can we, asking for books and the like while Slayer training is in progress. 'Excuse me, Mr Giles, but would you have a copy of the Oxford Book of English Verse about you?' 'Certainly, young sir or miss, right over there, under the freshly sharpened stakes, just to the left of those bottles of Holy Water.' 

Giles took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Where was that damned whisky? 

Becoming a Watcher, it was all he ever really wanted to be, much as he tried to convince himself and others that it wasn't always so. Years of groundwork, study, training, teaching – but none of it had prepared him to deal with the emotional aspects of the role. A girl was Called, her Watcher trained her, provided direction and motivation. Did the research. Then stood back and sent her out to do her duty. Coldly. Impersonally. 

The easy way. 

The Slayer is an agent of the Council of Watchers and as such, must have certain qualities. Or so he was taught. Absolute compliance to the dictates of her Watcher, single-minded focus on the job, a killer instinct. These were the things that made her an effective instrument against the forces of evil. 

For a time anyway. 

Usually a very short time. 

A burst of merriment carried across the room and Giles look over at his Slayer - Valley Girl chic - laughing and chatting with her friends. 

Obedient, respectful, aloof from the world. That was how a Slayer was meant to be. 

Buffy was none of those. 

And Giles was glad. 

**-- Fin --**

Thanks for reading! 

Feedback is welcome emailed to me at ligeia_angel@yahoo.com.au or read and review this and other stories at:   
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And Unconventional Relationshippers 


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